Codex Born (48 page)

The e-mail had been short and businesslike. Pallas began by reminding me that I was no longer a Porter, and that any attempt to access Porter resources or data would be ill-advised. Because of my service to the organization, she thought it only fair that I receive my final paycheck. It would be deposited into my savings account at the end of the month, and that would be the last time they contacted me.

Then, at the very end of her message, she warned me against trying to undo Gutenberg’s spell, explaining that historically, almost all such attempts had ended badly.

I knew Nicola Pallas. She was far too careful in her writing to have used the word “almost” by accident. Just as importantly, she knew me well enough to know I would pounce on that word as proof that it could be done.

She had given me hope.

“I heard on the radio that a sparkler photobombed a live news broadcast down in Detroit,” Lena commented.

My lips quirked. For the past two days since the attack, I had been inseparable from my computer, reading every article and blog post I could find about the attack on Copper River, Michigan. Theories ranged from the outlandish to the mundanely predictable: mass hallucinations, government experiments gone wrong, aliens, and more.

The physical repairs to the town had undermined many of the stories. I had driven past the water tower, standing tall once again. I couldn’t find a single weld to show where the legs had broken. The restaurant remained closed, but the door and windows had been fixed.

It was the same throughout town, and the reporters who arrived in search of a story met with confusion and conjecture from people who remembered nothing of the past days. On the other hand, there were always people eager for attention who were happy to confirm whatever explanation the reporters wanted, so long as it gave them their fifteen minutes of fame.

The last article I read had taken the government conspiracy approach, claiming that Copper River was a test site for hallucinogenic weapons, and everyone who stayed would be dying of cancer over the next decade.

I told myself I wasn’t obsessing. I was trying to read past the stories, to find out what the Porters had been up to, and whether they had been able to track down Bi Wei and the others. With no access to the Porter database and no magic of my own, this was my best chance to reconstruct their movements.

I watched Smudge climb slowly up one of the oaks, stalking a firefly. I hadn’t been certain what would happen to him with my magic gone. How much did Smudge exist independently of me, and how much was his magic bound to my own? The first time I watched him toast a cricket, my relief had been overwhelming.

As had the envy that followed.

Lena slid down beside me. “What happens now?”

I pointed to the sky. “Later tonight, between Ursa Minor and Cassiopeia, we should be able to see—”

“Dork.” She kissed my ear. “You know what I mean.”

“I’ve still got the library job. I asked Jennifer to move me back to full time.” No matter what else the Porters had done to me, at least they had repaired my library. I had been going there since I was three years old. I blinked hard and waited for the tightness in my throat to ease.

I could feel the depression trying to pull me down and smother me, as it had done at random times for the past two days. Nidhi was ready to start slipping Zoloft into my drinks. She would have been happier if I was talking to someone, but I couldn’t exactly go to a normal therapist with my problems, and Doctor Karim wasn’t allowed to meet with me anymore, since I was no longer a Porter.

I had also been volunteering around town, trying to pitch in wherever I could. I had donated blood, run an impromptu story time for kids, helped out with a charity fundraiser for the “unexplained” deaths that had taken at least twenty-one people…anything to be useful. Anything to keep from feeling powerless.

When I walked past the cemetery and saw the freshly dug graves, nothing seemed like enough.

“I’ve got something I want to show you.” Lena sounded uncharacteristically shy. “Nidhi, too. A project I’ll need both of you to help with.”

Before she could say more, Nidhi emerged from the back of the house with Jeff and Helen DeYoung in tow. I was starting to get used to having an extra houseguest in Nidhi. I knew perfectly well she was staying because she was worried about me, and wanted to make sure I wasn’t suicidal. It wasn’t an unreasonable fear, but after coming so close to so many different flavors of death, I had no desire at all to go there again.

“Later,” Lena whispered.

Jeff and Nidhi waited while Helen navigated the deck with her crutches. She had taken on a pair of wendigos on the south part of town. I hadn’t been able to pry anything out of her, beyond, “You should see the other guys, eh?”

Jeff was in slightly better shape. The first time I saw him, he had looked half-mummified in bandages from the cuts he had suffered, but the worst of his wounds had scabbed over and were beginning to heal. By the time the next full moon rolled around, he should be good as new.

Guan Feng had slept undisturbed through the attack, and most of the creatures had abandoned the library to come after
me. I had gotten the rest of the story from Helen, how the students of Bi Sheng knocked Jeff unconscious with a flick of their fingers, until one of the rescue workers found him curled up and snoring in the library the next afternoon.

“We brought cedar-smoked salmon,” Helen announced. She had become far friendlier when she learned I was no longer welcome among the Porters.

“And a thank you from Laci’s and Hunter’s families.” Jeff dug a pair of knitted mittens and matching hat from the pocket of his sweatshirt and tossed them to me. “For taking care of the bastard who attacked their kids.”

They were surprisingly soft, gray with a dappling of black spun through the wool. “Thank them for me.”

“They’d been saving the yarn,” Helen said. “Spun it themselves.”

I hesitated. “What exactly am I holding here?”

Jeff chuckled. “Nothing too weird. They brushed it from Laci and Hunter the first year they went through the change. It’s tradition, at least in these parts. You spin the fur into wool and use it for something special. Wear those, and any werewolf will know from the scent to treat you like family.”

“Thank you,” I repeated, humbled.

“Won’t be long until word gets out about us,” Helen said. “The Porters are trying to cover things up, but it’s like trying to put the egg back into the shell. There have always been rumors about Tamarack, but now folks will start putting the pieces together. Two families have left town already. The rest are stocking up on weapons and ammunition.”

“If the Porters can’t stop the signal, they’ll do their best to control it,” Lena said.

“Has anyone in Copper River figured out what you do—what you used to do, I mean—on the side?” Helen asked.

“Not yet.” Earlier today, after attending the first of what would be many funerals to come, Pete Malki had asked about the additional trees in my backyard. Several of my neighbors wanted to know how my home had survived the destruction that had taken out the rest of the street. Thus far, they’d all
been willing to take my word that I was as baffled as the rest of them. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything for your leg.”

She waved off my concern. “I’ve had worse. Did I ever tell you about the time I was out hunting, and a black bear managed to creep up behind me? She was downwind, and I was recovering from a cold, so by the time I sniffed her, it was too late to run.”

I settled back to listen, though I wasn’t sure how much of her story to believe. I certainly didn’t buy the one Jeff told next, which started with a home-brewing project and ended with Jeff punching a moose.

Nidhi brought chairs out from the house, and Jeff eventually retreated to the kitchen to heat up dinner. Lena grabbed a six-pack of beer a short time later, along with a two-liter bottle of Cherry Coke for herself.

By the time the sky grew dark, I had been thoroughly briefed on gossip about half the werewolves in Tamarack. I had shared a bit of salmon with Smudge, who apparently felt it was horribly undercooked, but otherwise approved. I thought it was delicious, and even went back for a second helping. It was the first real meal I had eaten since losing my magic.

Eventually, Helen tapped her husband on the shoulder, interrupting his tale about a rather acrobatic foursome he and Helen had participated in when they were younger. I had no idea whether or not they were embellishing or making the whole thing up. I was fairly certain the bit about the hammock was a lie, based on simple physics. Either way, it was definitely making me blush. Meanwhile, I could see Lena taking detailed mental notes.

“We need to start heading back,” said Helen. “Now you call us if there’s anything you need, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, climbing to my feet. “And thank you.”

They both seemed to understand that I wasn’t talking about the food. Each of them hugged me in turn, then did the same with Nidhi and Lena.

“Try to stay out of trouble for a while, eh?” Jeff said as he left.

“Not really part of my skill set,” I called back, earning a laugh from them both.

Nidhi stood with her arms folded, studying me. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she turned to go back inside.

“Wait.” Lena jumped to her feet and ducked into the grove, to her oak. She crouched at the base of the tree, reached into the roots, and pulled something from the dirt.

When I saw what she carried, I backed away. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes and no.” She extended the book to me.

I thought at first that Bi Wei had left her book behind, but I couldn’t imagine her taking such a risk. When I took the cloth-bound tome, I saw that the cover text was slightly different, though I couldn’t read it.

The writing inside was identical to that in Bi Wei’s book, at least the beginning. I turned to the middle, where carefully formed Chinese characters were replaced by English. “This is your handwriting.”

“I found it in the roots of my tree,” Lena said. “They made it for me. I think it was a gift from Bi Wei. When I pulled her from her book, she must have seen more of my thoughts than I realized.”

Nidhi pressed close, reading over my shoulder. I turned the page and read, “The oak is ever divided…”

Lena stared at the ground. “I’m not saying it’s good. I never claimed to be a poet.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Jeneta would—” Only I was forbidden from talking with her.

“They used these books as an escape,” Nidhi said. “A way to survive in a time of war.”

“I want the same thing,” Lena said. “To survive.” She took the book back and held it almost reverently. “I’m not done with it yet, and I don’t know if it will work, but I want to try.”

Lena’s nature couldn’t be rewritten. Gutenberg had said so himself. Then again, Gutenberg had said a lot of things that turned out to be untrue or incomplete. If these books could
sustain the students of Bi Sheng for so many years—if they could give them a foundation even now to stave off the madness of the Army of Ghosts—who was to say it couldn’t do the same for Lena?

“I’ll need you both to read it,” Lena continued. “Each day, if you can.”

“Of course, love,” said Nidhi.

“Twice a day on weekends,” I promised.

“Thank you.” She kissed each of us, then returned the book to the safety of her tree. When she returned, her eyes were somber. “When do you think the Army of Ghosts will return?”

Not if, but when. “They’re awake now, and they’ve planted their seeds in Bi Wei and the others. If the ghosts can’t take control of them, they’ll look for another way into our world.”

And when they got here, they would certainly remember who had derailed their plans. Twice.

I thought of the armored woman I had seen in my madness, and my hand went to the shock-gun in my pocket. Technically, I should have turned that in when they kicked me out of the Porters.

On the other hand, screw them.

“This isn’t over, is it?” asked Nidhi.

I peered through the telescope and adjusted the knob until the stars came into sharp focus. “The world is about to discover magic. This is only the beginning.”

J
ENETA DREAMED SHE WAS back in the car with Myron Worster, a white-haired Porter in a suit and tie, with sharp wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. For a glorified magical babysitter, he was nice enough, if you could get past his penchant for show tunes and the perpetual smell of pipe tobacco.

“Are you sure we don’t have time to see Isaac?” Jeneta asked. “Just to say good-bye, and to thank him.”

“I’m afraid not. Pallas’ orders.”

She could have used magic to influence him, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He had demonstrated his magic in her cabin at Camp Aazhawigiizhigokwe, pulling various potions and magical ointments from the books in his suitcase. He explained in excruciating detail how he had spent fifty years studying the effects of different potions, learning how to combine them for maximum potency, from flight and invisibility to speed and strength. Given a few minutes to mix his magical cocktails, he was all but unbeatable.